


"Why’s there a pregnancy test in the rubbish?"

by thescienceofsherlolly



Series: Sherlollicious [32]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birthday Party, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, John is The Worst Detective Ever, Unplanned Pregnancy, behind-the-scenes amublance sex went down, literally. he was told twice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 23:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11542410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescienceofsherlolly/pseuds/thescienceofsherlolly
Summary: John turns detective when he finds a positive pregnancy test in Molly's rubbish bin.





	"Why’s there a pregnancy test in the rubbish?"

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to an anon over on tumblr for requesting this prompt ♥

**We’ve been invited to a party. SH**

**Yeah, Molly’s. Tonight. JW**

**Did you get her a gift? I wrote it on the fridge. JW**

**Yes. SH**

**Probably. SH**

**Not sure. SH**

**I’ll know tonight. SH**

John rolled his eyes, tucking his phone into his pocket; he didn’t have the time or patience to deal with his cryptic best friend. He doted on Rosie, smiling and blowing raspberries into her skin as he changed her into her gorgeous lilac party dress, the infant expressing her delight through adorable squeals. An hour later, they arrived outside Molly Hooper’s flat; she greeted them with a large smile and warm hug, a glass of wine in one hand.

“Happy Birthday, Molly,” John said, balancing Rosie on his hip as he retrieved her present from the changing bag slung over his shoulder, “sorry about the wrapping. Someone wanted to lend a hand.”

“Aww, thank you,” Molly giggled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Rosie’s head, “help yourself to drinks. Food’s in the kitchen. I’ve cordoned off my room if Rosie wants a little sleep.”

“Thanks. Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” He once again bounced Rosie, wrinkling his nose pointedly, “nappy emergency.”

“Be my guest.”

He hurried inside, weaving past the drunk party-goers scrambling to coo over the ‘cutest baby ever’ and ducked inside the small bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief for the moment of peace; honestly, he’d only just arrived. One foldable changing mat and clean nappy later, Rosie was good as new.

“There you go, baby girl,” John whispered affectionately as he fastened the nappy securely around his daughter, dropping a kiss to her cheek, “ready to slay them all.”

He opened the pedal bin when something caught his eye. A pregnancy test sat atop the waste, it’s positive double lines staring up at him; he knew he should just dump his bag and pretend he hadn’t seen anything. He glanced at Rosie, who was sucking her fingers as she watched him.

“Well,” John finally found his voice, closing the bin. He approached the sink and quickly washed his hands, “that’s one hell of a birthday present.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, after successfully settling Rosie in Molly’s bedroom, John finally emerged wearing an expression of stunned horror. He barely noticed he’d wandered over to Sherlock, who was leaning against the wall in the corner of the room. His eyes were fixed on the goofy dance the birthday girl was engaging in with Greg Lestrade, the two laughing wildly.

“Is this the kind of thing we should be filming?” Sherlock inquired, gesturing his own glass of wine at the foolish couple. He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the grinding pair’s actions, “it’s only fair. I recall a certain stag night-”

His glass of wine was removed from his hand and swallowed by the shorter man standing next to him. The shorter man who seemed to be having some sort of existential crisis; he shook his head, lowering his voice…even though the closest person to them was Molly’s elderly great aunt.

“I have to tell you something.”

Sherlock looked far too amused for John’s liking. “That the birthday girl is pregnant?”

“You know?” John shouted, loud enough to be heard over the music and earn the momentary attention of Aunt Hillary. He ran a hand over his face, lowering his voice once more, “how is it you know everything?”

“It’s obvious.”

“Not to me,” he hissed, staring into his empty wine glass as if hoping it would magically refill itself. Shaking his head, he looked up at his friend, “so, what are you, godfather or something?”

“Not exactly…” the detective smirked briefly before adding, “she’s not keeping it.”

“What?” John looked over to Molly, then; she was fanning herself and giggling as Greg took a bow and playfully kissed her hand before leaving to fetch drinks, “well, what about…him?”

Sherlock frowned, “who?”

“Greg,” John gestured, growing steadily more annoyed with his friend, “it’s his baby too.”

Sherlock looked from the army doctor over to Molly and Greg, a look of utter confusion on his face. After a long pause, a wide grin spread across his face, “that’s…true.”

“Do you think I should say something?”

“Yes, YES!” Sherlock seized his shoulders and began frogmarching him towards the kitchen where Molly was currently alone, “talk to her, give her advice or whatever it is you do. Convince her to keep it. You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

John was too confused to even protest at being shoved in such a manner, “okay, but why-”

Sherlock gave a final push and John stumbled into the kitchen, finding himself alone with Molly; she was refilling her wine glass with…apple juice. So, not drunk. He felt slightly better with that knowledge although he still had many questions. How far along was she? Did Greg know? How long had they been dating? Why did Molly want to terminate her pregnancy? Why was Sherlock so keen for her to keep it? Was he-

“Oh, hi, John. I didn’t-”

“Why is there a pregnancy test in the rubbish?” John blurted out abruptly, causing the pathologist to choke on her sip of apple juice; she gawped at him unblinking, opening and closing her mouth rapidly. He ruffled his hair awkwardly, “I was changing Rosie- I didn’t mean to-”

“It was just a one-off mistake…just five minutes of fun in the back of an ambulance with a dear friend,” John was unable to refrain from raising an eyebrow; he didn’t know Greg had it in him. Molly was wringing her hands, watching as John poured himself rather a large glass of wine, “I don’t want to bring a child into the world because of that. It’s not fair. To either of them.”

“I understand,” John finally said after swallowing the last remaining drop of his wine. He approached his friend and gently held her shoulder, smiling, “if there’s anything you need, I’ll always be here for you.”

Molly smiled in return, hugging the army doctor tightly, “thank you, John. I really appreciate your support.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, wondering how he was supposed to reunite Greg and Molly before the birth of their baby.

* * *

Soon enough, the party crowd had dispersed until it was just John left with Molly, Greg and Sherlock, three people he was determined not to leave alone under any circumstances; the consulting detective was busy texting whilst Greg bustled around helping Molly fill various rubbish bags, cracking stupid jokes every now and again. John took this as his cue to gather Rosie’s carrier and make his first attempt to leave the expecting parents alone.

“Right, Sherlock. We’d better go. I’ve got to get Rosie into bed,” he smiled over at Greg and Molly, praying Sherlock would take the hint. Of course, the super git just shrugged.

“Surely you don’t need me for that.”

John gritted his teeth. “She likes it when you read her a story.”

“So, I’ll read her a story another time.”

“Sherlock!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, I’ll read her a bloody story,” Greg exclaimed, taking the carrier from John’s hands and peering inside to make faces at the cute youngster. He turned to Molly, winking politely, “thanks for a great time, Molly. See you later.”

John began to protest as Greg left the flat with his daughter, although, before he could say anything else, Sherlock was once again manhandling him and marching him out of the flat.

“He’s not the father. Goodbye.”

Sherlock closed the door in John’s face, unable to keep the smirk off his face at the look on John’s. He turned back to Molly, watching her hurry around the flat tidying up as she tried to avoid him. Finally, she could stand the silence no longer and discarded the rubbish bag, running a hand through her hair.

“Do you have them?” Sherlock reached into his coat pocket, removing the abortion leaflets she’d asked him to collect. He flipped through them with a sigh.

“Everything you need to know. The procedure, aftercare…” he trailed off, holding out the papers. Molly swallowed, reaching out; their fingers brushed briefly and she caught his eye. He smiled although there was no humour, “I do wish you’d reconsider.”

Tearfully, Molly asked, “why?”

“Why?” He stepped closer, extending his arms as if to hold her but thinking better of it. Instead, he took her hands, pressing her knuckles to his lips, “you’re my family. Ambulance or no ambulance, baby or no baby. You’ll always be my family,” her tears were falling freely now and she pulled him close, burying her face into his coat for the first time in weeks. He stroked her hair, continuing, “whatever you decide, I’ll always love you and be here for you. If it is still your wish to go through with-”

“No, no…” Molly shook her head, extracting herself and holding his face in her hands; she sniffed, giving a watery grin, “this is all I’ve ever wanted. You. You’re my family, too. I love you.”

He lifted her into his arms, her legs circling his waist. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “so, we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this,” Molly giggled, snogging the breath out of him and professing her undying love between each desperate kiss. Oh yes, best birthday ever.

* * *

Two days later, Sherlock returned to Baker Street – slightly dishevelled and giddily happy but otherwise unchanged – to find John sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by address books and phone numbers. He was currently on the phone, chatting away to Molly’s ex-fiancé.

“…no, Tom. Nothing’s the matter. I just wanted to ask something…”

“That’s not necessary,” Sherlock commented, hanging his coat on the hook outside their flat. John waved a silencing hand in his direction.

“Yeah, John from the wedding, that’s right,” the former army doctor replied with a tone that suggested he was slowly losing the will to live, “I’m calling about Molly Hooper. When did you last have contact with her?”

There was an irritating tap on his shoulder. “John-”

“Noooo, I mean did you get her pregnant-”

This time it was less a tap and more of a shove. “John!”

“What?” John whirled around, the phone still pressed to his ear.

“I’m the father of Molly’s baby,” Sherlock said, the satisfaction of at last saying the words was almost as fulfilling as the look of bewilderment on John’s face. He patted his shoulder, “we’re in love, we’re going to be parents and we couldn’t be happier,” he gestured at the phone, “but don’t let me disturb you. Carry on.”

The whining drone in John’s ear faded to background noise as he imagined new and creative ways to murder his very best friend.


End file.
